


Dirty Pool

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Character of Colour, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-07
Updated: 2010-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foreman and Taub play pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Pool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Topaz_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/gifts).



> Written for topaz_eyes's [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/glompalicious/5045.html?thread=1041845#t1041845).

"Don't even try to hustle me," Taub says, looking up from his read of the table, pool cue already poised, with a brief, nearly pained smile that says _we both recognize how pathetic--not to mention stereotypical--that tactic would be_.

"I'm not going to _hustle_ you," Foreman says, mildly miffed. Which isn't to say he _couldn't_ ; there was enough shit in his college life that playing fratboy freshers for their parents' money cheered more than a few miserable Friday nights. But he'll take Taub on straight, because they both work for House. By the time they're off the clock, they're sick of playing games.

Taub makes his shot and continues around the table, calculating angles. "What made you decide to do this?" he asks.

Foreman shrugs. "Why did you accept?" As if he doesn't know: plausible deniability. At some point tonight, Rachel will call Taub's cell, and Taub will invite Foreman to say hello to the missus. Corroboration. Taub's already overconfident. He glows at work, smirks at House and challenges him more and more each day. He's building a tower on a pile of sand. Chase doesn't care; Thirteen seems to be _encouraging_ Taub with a wild torrent of bullshit; and House, for reasons of his own, wants to save him.

Foreman only wants to whip his ass at pool. Taub banks the cue ball, drops another solid, and then he's trapped behind Foreman's wall of stripes. He goes for the Hail Mary and scratches badly. Foreman sets up the cue ball and starts picking off the stripes, one by one by one, while Taub grimaces into his beer.

When Foreman finally misses, the six and the four flank the eight ball. Taub grins, gives him a _sorry it came to this_ look, and clears the table. The eight ball's all that's left, and the shot, if Taub wants it, is there.

He misses.

Foreman shakes his head. With a quick, decisive _thwack_ , he downs the eight. He walks around the table to Taub, who's not a bad guy. They work well together. And Taub told _him_ , once, what he needed to hear. Foreman hands him the cue and meets his eyes. "You're going to fuck it up," he says, and he walks out of the bar.


End file.
